Raspberries.

I started this blog 3 years ago when I traveled to the USA and Canada.

The Canadian part of my trip was based in Langley, British Columbia, where I stayed with my sister, my brother-in-law and their 2-year-old daughter.

One night we had a couple over for dinner. I forget their names, but I remember it was one of those affairs where conversation was hard work. Really hard work. This couple were very prim and proper and I had to be on my best behaviour. These environments are torture for me. The collection of stock anecdotes that I save for such occasions had run out. I had nothing in the tank.

It was at this moment when the lady asked me if I enjoyed being an uncle.

Now, when I was a child, my siblings and I all called raspberries a different name. I don't mean the fruit, raspberry. I mean the blowing harmlessly on the tummy of a young person, raspberry. You know what I mean. Just before bed time and all that. And for some reason, we called raspberries...

Blowies.

Yeah. And so, when this couple asked me how I got on with my niece, I replied...

"Oh, I love Gracie. I'm a big kid at heart. I love giving her blowies."

Silence. Stunned confusion on the face of the couple.

"You know... giving someone a blowy?"

Their confusion turns to uncomfortability.

"You know, remember, when you were a kid, and your Dad would chase you around the bedroom and give you a blowy?"

Their uncomfortability turns to horror. I realise why. But, nonetheless, to finish...

"...I love giving blowies."